Soldier Keep on Marchin' On
by foreverafangirl93
Summary: Distractions. They can be deadly. Especially when you're a superhero on a mission. Steve Rogers aka Captain America learns this the hard way. hurt!sick!Steve bestie!bucky girlfriend!sharon. this is my first CA one-shot so please be kind :)


AN: My first Captain America fic! be gentle lol. BTW, this is a FRIENDSHIP fic between Steve and Bucky. Steve is in a romantic relationship with Sharon. I'm a sucker for hurt!Sick!Steve. :)

* * *

 _Soldier keep on marching on,_

 _head down til the work is done,_

 _waiting on the morning sun,_

 _soldier keep on marching on_

 _-_ Soldier - _fleurie_

* * *

Distractions. You would think after having been a super soldier for over 70 years –okay, give or take some due to, you know, being at the bottom of the ocean for most of that – that Steve Rogers aka Captain America would be used to fighting with distractions.

However, the first mission after getting his best pal back ( _really_ , back. Memories and all) – Bucky Barnes aka the Winter Soldier – and getting acquainted with the former SHIELD agent Sharon Carter, does not go as smoothly as he had hoped.

Mostly, because it was a solo mission.

Which, he could do in his sleep. _If_ he hadn't been distracted by thoughts of how Bucky was doing for the first time on his own and how Sharon was doing on _her_ mission.

Distractions can be costly, especially in the whole Superhero line of work. Steve Rogers, Captain America, is about to learn that lesson the hard way.

He's pulling every move he knows. Kicking, punching, slamming the shield at their heads, but they just keep coming. Dozens of them at a time. Hydra agents. They're after some fancy token. Steve isn't sure. He only half listened to them rant and rave about the object for a moment before starting the fight.

He happens to turn his back on a fallen HYDRA agent – thinking he's eliminated that threat and mind bogged down with thoughts of his new, maybe, possibly girlfriend – when it happens.

He feels a sharp sting in the back of his neck, which should be impossible given his new, supposedly impenetrable suit. But when his vision starts to blur and he drops his shield to the floor of the shitty warehouse factory, that's when he knows it's legit.

* * *

He opens his eyes, blinking at the harsh light above him. Voices hover above him, but it's hard to tell with all the buzzing in his ears who the voices belong to.

"What—" he starts to speak when blood bubbles up in his throat, interrupting him. It practically flows out of him, to his surprise. That's when he realizes he's being strapped down on a bed. Two people on either side of him.

Wearing what looks like _Hazmat_ suits.

Shit.

* * *

A loud buzz wakes him up. Okay, it didn't actually wake him because in order to wake up you have to sleep.

Steve hasn't slept in what seems like forever. He hurts too much to do so. He's just been staring at the ceiling, wondering where the hell he is.

"Captain?" a soft voice calls, startling him out of his misery. He manages enough energy to lift his head and look around the room.

The completely white room.

He notices a large, silver box on the wall with a built-in speaker.

"Uh, yes?" He asks, hesitantly, because one of the last things he remembers is getting shot with something in his neck by a damn HYDRA agent. For all he knows, this could be HYDRA.

"Are you up for visitors?"

He lays his head back down and says nothing. It's several minutes before someone else speaks.

"Uh, _Steve_?"

Steve lifts his head up, immediately, looking across the room now to see a large glass and behind said glass is Bucky. _Bucky._

"Bucky? What're you doing here?"

Steve panics because he swore to himself that he wasn't going to get his friend into another situation with the bastards. He failed him once. He isn't going to do that again.

He tries to sit up completely, but his body fails him. He tries again, and fails. The super solider nearly growls to himself, but he doesn't have the energy. Which totally bites because, for all he knows, HYDRA took him and then took Bucky and who the hell knows what they have planned.

Sweat rolls down his forehead and he realizes then just how _shitty_ he feels. He's hot. Like, a million degrees hot. He leans over the side of his bed, suddenly dizzy and shaking.

Minutes pass. Hell, it could've been hours, days, months, or even years. He doesn't know. He's disoriented and hot and wants to just _pass out_. Anything to get away from the horrible, gut-wrenching sickness he's experiencing.

"—eve, hey, _calm down,_ it's alright. You're not with HYDRA." Bucky sounds like he's been speaking for a while. Steve analyzes the tone of it as he lies back down on the bed. He doesn't _sound_ distressed or in pain. Just… worried. "Steve?"

Steve doesn't lift his head up, this time. Too weak, but he does manage to swallow and ask, "What's going on, Bucky?"

"You're….sick."

"Sick?" Steve questions, eyebrows furrowed as the looks at the entirely too-white ceiling.

"Yeah, you remember that last mission you were on?" Bucky pauses, letting his friend reflect, "A HYDRA bastard shot you in the neck with a dart full of a virus. The people here at not-SHIELD, but kind of SHIELD and most definitely not HYDRA are working on figuring out what exactly was in it." _And how to cure it_ , Steve realizes. That's why the people had had on suits. So they wouldn't catch whatever it is that he has.

It's also why Bucky is on the other side of a large, thick glass.

Steve lifts a hand, putting it over his eyes as the lights get to be too much.

"Steve?"

"Don't take it personally, but I think I'm going to pass out again."

"That's alright, pal. You do what you gotta do." Bucky sounds sincere, but even half out of it Steve can tell he's putting on a show for him. Just like he did when he was sick and not nearly as well built as he is now.

"I'll be alright, Buck," Steve's words slur, his eyes closing of their own accord before popping open. "Sharon!"

"Sharon?" Bucky questions, teasing, "You worried about your girl while you're laid up in here?"

"Just…she's alright, isn't she?" Steve's voice softens, removing his hand from his face and closing his eyes again. He barks out a cough, feeling wetness on his chin. "Tell me she's alright."

"Yeah. She is." Bucky's voice is soft, fading, "You just get some rest."

* * *

Steve isn't sure what's happening the next time he wakes up. There are several dozen people surrounding him, holding him down—again—and that fact makes him freak out.

Something's placed over his nose and mouth right as he opens his eyes. Music is playing in the background. He tries to pay more attention to it than the people who are poking and prodding at him.

He recognizes the melody immediately, causing him to relax even further. It's a while later when someone speaks to him.

"Would you like to sit up, Captain?" Someone mutters, causing him to look to his right.

The girl underneath the suit smiles at him politely.

"Yes, if you don't mind."

She presses a few buttons on the side and the half of the bed with Steve's head starts to rise until he could see the end of the room clearly.

"Always so polite."

Bucky's staring at him from the other end of the room, a knowing smirk on his face despite looking utterly exhausted.

"Such a jerk," Steve mutters, knowing his friend heard him by the smile he shoots his way.

The dozen people finally leave, letting Steve give out a sigh of relief.

"How long has it been?" Steve asks, curious.

Bucky's face does that thing when he's telling a lie and he thinks he can pull one over on Steve, "Not long."

"Yeah, alright," Steve laughs softly, "you should go back to the tower. Get some rest. You look like shit."

"Takes one to know one, punk."

Steve doesn't say anything for a while after that, focusing on his breathing. His chest starts to ache.

He's not an idiot. He knows his chances are slim. Especially from the way Bucky keeps biting his lip and glancing away whenever he tries to make eye contact. He used to do the same thing whenever Winter hit New York particularly hard and Steve went without proper clothes.

"Sharon called," Bucky starts, "she's on her way back—"

"What?" The ache gets larger, causing him to put a hand on his chest in attempt to self-relieve. "Is her mission over already?"

Bucky says nothing. Steve's getting worse. That's why she's coming back. So, that's that then.

"This totally sucks," Steve complains, looking up at the ceiling. He lightens the mood, "I haven't even gotten any Jell-O."

"Steve?" Bucky asks, hesitantly and Steve immediately knows that he's not going to like whatever comes next so he keeps his eyes on the ceiling. He swallows to let his friend know that he's listening. "You know… me, falling off that train…. Back then… it wasn't your fault, right? That me turning into… _him_ wasn't _your_ fault?"

"Course I do," is his immediate response, but closes his eyes anyway. The familiar ache at the reminder of his failures hurts more than whatever virus HYRDRA put in him.

"Good," Bucky sounds like he doesn't believe him, "then maybe you should stop screaming my name when you sleep. You're freaking all the pretty nurses out."

He opens his eyes, glancing at Bucky, "Screaming your… I don't—"

"Steve," Bucky's voice is soft, like the time after his father died and the time when his mother died and pretty much any time Steve was feeling like absolute shit and there were no words. Bucky knew. He always knew.

Steve clenches the blankets in his left fist and looks down. The music is still playing in the background, reminding him of a simpler time. Before he can say anything else, he gasps, the pain in his chest no longer a dull ache, but sharp and sudden and hurts a hell of a lot. He leans over, folding in on himself as he rides it out. He clenches his jaw, lowering his head, not wanting Bucky to see the kind of pain he's in.

"Steve? _Steve_?! Come on, Rogers, talk to me." There's banging on the glass.

The pain dies down to a dull roar, but he stays folded over. His breathing is harsh, ragged.

"I'm fine," Steve says, still folded over.

"Like hell," Bucky growls, "Where are those damn— _finally_. Jesus, took you long enough."

The door to Steve's room opens and there they are again. The Hazmat's. There's only two of them this time. A reminder that this isn't simpler times when he would get sick and Bucky would take care of him in the comfort of his and his mother's crappy apartment.

"This should help," the woman who had helped him sit up before spoke softly as she injected his IV with something. Steve doesn't ask. He doesn't care. He just wants it to work.

For something to, finally, _work_.

He lies back, closing his eyes because he doesn't want to see Bucky's calm, but secretly freaked out expression. The hazmat's leave.

"Hey, Buck," Steve tries, his voice coming out in a soft whisper.

"Yeah, pal?"

Steve swallows, harshly, "You really don't…. you know, blame me?"

"What—" Bucky's startled.

"Cause you could." He opens his eyes, briefly looking at his surprised friend before looking up at the ceiling, "you probably _should_." He lets out a sharp laugh, opens his mouth to say something else, but stops himself. He's already said too much. So, he lets the medicine take over and closes his eyes again.

* * *

He doesn't feel much like talking the next day, so he asks someone to make sure Bucky gets some rest himself and not allow him to see him. It's a jerk move, but it works.

* * *

The day after that, Bucky is sitting in a chair, next to Steve's bed, in a freaking hazmat suit and reading a magazine as if he belongs there.

"You mind telling me what the hell you're doing in here?"

"Not at all, you mind telling me why you kicked me out yesterday?"

"You needed rest," is all Steve says, sighing. "Hey, you know what—"

"No, you're not leaving."

"It'd just be for a little—"

"No."

"Buck—"

"What part of you having a freaky virus that not even the top-scientists at the most underground government agency can't figure out don't you understand?"

"The part where I have to stay in this damn bed every damn day and not get to see sunshine. Hell, I don't even know what day it is anymore which kind of reminds me of when I got out of the ocean—" he stops himself and sighs, turning away. If he starts that, he'll never stop.

Bucky doesn't deserve that.

"Steve, man, I'm sorry—"

Steve ignores him, which Bucky also doesn't deserve but that's what he does. The former superhero stares at the wall until he falls asleep.

The agents are nice enough to bring in a TV, even if Steve doesn't know exactly how to work it. He manages.

He hasn't seen Bucky in a while, which is a disappointment. His friend was pretty much the only thing keeping him sane.

He gets worse, if that's even possible. He burns with fever and aches with pain and it takes everything in him not to just give in to it. But he can't. Not without seeing his friend one more time. Not without seeing Sharon one more time.

* * *

Someone's wiping his forehead with a wet washcloth. It helps.

He sighs. Then looks up, startled.

"Mom?"

It looks like her.

They say something, but he can't make it out.

He fades back into darkness.

* * *

"— _sorry_ , alright?"

Steve wakes up, still burning with fever. He looks towards the glass, seeing Bucky leaning against it, looking utterly exhausted.

"Buck?" he whispers, then says a little louder, "Bucky?"

"Steve," Bucky's head pops up, relief filling his voice. Steve immediately takes notices of the redness in his friend's eyes accompanied by the circles underneath them.

"Peachy," Steve says, squeezing his eyes shut when it gets really bad. "Thought I was never going to see you again."

He's saying things he normally wouldn't be saying. He realizes that and blames it on the raging fever.

He looks at Bucky, who looks as if he's just been punched in the gut.

"Steve—"

"End of the line, Buck." Steve interrupts, sweat rolling down his face. He shivers, knowing his words are true.

"What? No. _No_." Bucky says, adamantly, "It's not. They're working on a cure. They're gonna find something. You just gotta hang on a little longer."

"Not in time… not for me."

"No, that's _bullshit_ ," Bucky vents, pacing back and forth in the small area, "You're Captain-Fucking-America. You don't get taken down by some lame-ass HYDRA bullshit virus. You go out in a blaze of glory. In the middle of battle."

"That's some colorful language," Steve finally says, a corner of his mouth lifting up in a half smile. "It's _bad_ , Bucky. Worse than 8th grade, pneumonia… _bad_."

Steve had always been a sickly child, but that year… it was worse. The weather and his sad excuse for a coat didn't help matters at all.

"No," Bucky says, softly in denial, "No."

Steve sighs before summoning the energy to sit up. It hurts like hell, but he does it. He takes a moment, breathing heavily before moving his legs off the bed. He takes off the breathing mask, unattaches all of the cords that are helping him. It's been a while since he's gotten out of bed, but he manages it. He moves slowly, but surely towards the glass case.

Bucky watches him, not even bothering to hide his sad expression. Steve walks slowly, but surely until he's right in front of Bucky.

"It's alright," Steve reassures him, giving him a ghost of a smile. "Ma's waiting for me. Wherever she is." He pauses, taking a deep breath, "But I want you to keep me waiting a long time, you hear me? Don't go on some revenge driven mission and get yourself killed."

"Steve—" Bucky says softly, shaking his head.

"I mean it, James," Steve speaks lucidly, the first time all day. "Not for me."

Bucky swallows, clearly fighting back emotions, "Fine."

"Good," Steve sighs, running a hand over his face. "Enough with the sappy stuff. Suit up and come watch the game with me. Yankees are winning."

* * *

Sharon Carter prides herself on the fact that she's only cried three times in her life, up until this point. First, there's the obvious, her parents funeral. Second, over a boy who, she now realizes, wasn't even worth it.

When she looks through that glass mirror and sees Steve lying on a hospital bed looking sicker than she had ever seen anyone other than her Aunt Peggy, she cries for the fourth time in her life.

Not the loud, gut-wrenching sobbing that she would do later in her apartment all alone with a bottle of wine. No. This is the silent, heart-felt, cry that is personal and real.

 _I love him_ , she realizes.

Then, as if embarrassed, she wipes them away quickly as she notices him stirring on the bed.

She presses the button on the intercom, hoping she looks and sounds more put-together than she actually is, "Hey, stranger."

"Hey neighbor," he grins, grunting softly as he moves to lift up his bed. "How are you?"

Because that's the kind of man Steve Rogers is and always would be. Even as he lay there, literally, on his dying bed, he will always be the one to ask you how you were.

She clears her throat, giving him a slight grin as she ignores the lump in her throat, "I'm good. Now that I'm with you, anyway."

She looks away, having never been one for emotions or expressing them via words. When she looks back, his eyes are softer. He knows just how difficult that is for her to say out loud.

"Same here," he replies, "This is a nice change. I couldn't get Bucky to shut up the past few…whenever. The guy won't stop talking to save his life."

"Ah, that Bucky Barnes. What a chatter-box," she laughs, softly.

She fills him in on her mission. He comments that she should've stayed, to which she fixes with a glare.

They talk for what seems like hours about anything. Anything other than the crippling truth: Steve Rogers is going to die.


End file.
